


Nineteen Minutes.

by Old_Friends_Bookends



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eloping, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:21:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Old_Friends_Bookends/pseuds/Old_Friends_Bookends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In nineteen Minutes you can stop the world. </p><p>Or you can just jump off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nineteen Minutes.

In nineteen minutes, you can mow the front lawn, dye your hair, have a bath. In nineteen minutes, you can bake scones or fold laundry for a family of five.

In nineteen minutes, you can order a pizza and have it delivered. You could read a story to a child or have your oil changed. 

In nineteen minutes, you can stop the world or you can just jump off it. 

In nineteen minutes, you can fall in love.

{~O~}

John shuffled nervously in the vestibule, his charcoal grey suit seemed to drown him in that moment. He was nervous and excited and practically bursting with energy. If you walked past the small room at the moment in time you would be able to feel the thrumming exhilaration. John kept mumbling his vows over and over. He didn't seem to notice when his Greg patted him on the back mumbling about needing something. The buzz was growing as Greg left, leaving the room silently.

Sherlock looked over his best friend and heaved a sigh. John looked absolutely amazing. The grey tails of his coat were swinging around with gay abandon as John swirled around, everything needed to be perfect. Yes perfect. Like John... He held his breath and leant against the wall when John's eyes turned to him.

"How long? How long do we have?" John was practically sweating now; if one squinted, his heartbeat would be visible through his heavy suit. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to rip it off; to grab John by the shirt collar and kiss him hard. He had never wanted anything more. In that moment, the moment John's eyes fell on him, Sherlock thought that he had never seen anything more beautiful, more astounding. John's beauty had never been brighter. Sherlock could spend the rest of his life cataloging every breath, every contour, every smile of John's. And it still wouldn't be enough. 

"Nineteen minutes." He muttered, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. Why was his voice failing him? Because Sherlock was truly, madly and hopelessly in love with his best friend. And nothing would make him happier than sweeping John in his arms at the alter and saying 'I take you, John Hamish Watson, to be my lawfully wedded husband.' But no. That's not what today was about. Today, John was marrying Mary. Mary Morstan, the woman who too over Sherlock's job. She fixed him when Sherlock left. She was the one who held his hand, the one who talked the nightmares away, the one that John loved. Mycroft was right: caring is not an advantage. But if he let John go through with this, he could lose him forever. Sure, John promised they'd still be best friends. That they'd always stay in touch, but that's how it starts. They'd plan to meet every other day, which with cases and work would slip to every other week. John would go on dates with his wife and miss the ones with Sherlock. He'd be sorry but excited because he had news, Mary was pregnant. John would be a father; yet more reason for him to be pulled away. Eventually they'd promise to meet up every month. Little Johnny or baby Sandra would need to go on a play date or John would be taking his loving wife away. Soon they'd only have the odd phone call or email. John would forget all about his little old friend. And they'd just walk past each other in the street, like an echo or a memory. Sherlock's heart (yes, he owns one. Thank you very much), was breaking. 

"John..?" He whispered, lips working of their own volition. Sherlock took John's hands in his own. His thumbs running over John's soft palms. Sherlock's gaze was set solemnly on their hands. Nineteen minutes. That's all he hand. 

"I'm going to tell you something but you aren't allowed to speak until I'm finished."

John opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself and nodded instead. He'd never seen Sherlock so... agitated. 

"John Hamish Watson. My doctor. My blogger... My best friend. I never thought it possible. When I was a child, I had a stuffed bee that my brother bought me after one awful day at school. He said, "This is your friend. He will protect you and love you until you find someone who can do the real thing." I always held out hope. I knew you would come to me. Mí amour. Can you feel this? my heart beating out of my chest? I've been holding it in so long. You make me want to be a better person. You make me wake up and think of ways to impress you and make you smile. I guess, what I'm trying to say is. I am completely and utterly in love with you. So much so that it physically hurts; it hurts to be away from you, to have you stand meters away from me and know that I cannot touch you. I wish I was marrying you today. Not her. My John Watson. My saviour. My salvation. I want a family. I want a life. I want you. I love you to the moon and back. All the stars and all of space cannot amount to how much my heart desires yours. It's like I die when you aren't around. I cease to exist.

I am nothing without you. 

I'm lost without my blogger."

Sherlock looked up, John could see every emotion. His face had never been so clear, so open. It took all he could muster to not cry at the sight of his broken friend. 

Instead, John glanced around the room. His discarded top hat was on the floor, a bottle of water next to it. John blinked fast. It was as if he had been hit by a truck. Everything. seemed so alive yet so dead. He'd given up any hope of Sherlock reciprocating his feelings on the first night. Sherlock after all was married to his work. So he gave up. He hated to say it but he settled for Mary. Sherlock was his love. The one man in the world that understood him. 

John squeezed Sherlock's hands and tilted his head so the two were looking in each others eyes. 

"Just the two of us against the world."

 

They ran. Never stopped until they reached the train station. And they never let go of each others hands, as if their lives depended on it. 

 

Next train to Gretna Green: Nineteen minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> Gretna Green is a place in Scotland where you can elope and get married. 
> 
> xo


End file.
